Wedgewood Park

Dawn scowled. As much as she would die thrice over to admit it, her outburst had not been from anger -- or at least, not malicious anger -- but from concern. She was worried, and she hated it. The redhead was not very good at all at expressing concern, and the only way she could do it without brooding was through a rant. But obviously, she couldn't explain that to Sheri, for the same reason that she couldn't have simply said as much to Logan in the first place. As such, something of a pained expression came upon her face as she attempted to combine anger, brooding and irritation with exasperation, surprise, and even apology.

Even as Sheri did as none would have likely dared prior to the current circumstances, Dawn did not rise to the challenge. She could not communicate to Sheri that the only reason she had let loose was because she cared for Logan -- cared for them both -- and so the only thing that she could do to even come close to it was simply to nod in a manner that almost approached meekness. let Sheri think it was her determined and dismissive manner that had done it, but in truth it was a small whisper of her true feelings. Dawn grimaced just to be thinking anything that soppy...

But then the bike came into question, and Dawn's eyes widened.

She followed after the larger woman hastily, opening her mouth to protest, but not quite getting around to it as she was distracted by Logan's shrill whining. Dawn spared him a glance, blinking at his apparent incompetence, before turning back. And widening her eyes further. Was she... no. Surely not...

Dawn practically ran after Sheri then, drawing alongside her after a few bounds. She opened her mouth for a second time to protest -- this was her beauty, her prized possession, her cherished birthday gift from two years ago, more so than any of her other expensive things; the one possession that she never let out of her sight for more than an hour at a time. She'd always imagined riding it all the way through life, doing everything with it... okay, maybe not quite that dramatic, but the gist was there. She couldn't just let Sheri dump it in a marsh!

Before the redhead could speak, however, Sheri did so herself.

"This is your test, dear. Are you going to risk the cycle being found and our trail being followed? It's all cute games when you're slashing necks in high school, but things are getting really real, really fast."

Dawn blinked, mouth left open as if ready to speak, closing for a moment before opening again. No, this wasn't necessary -- they could hide it! And... come back to it? Yeah. That. The sirens passing overhead granted Dawn another moment to procrastinate with her response, inwardly scowling and outwardly staring.

.. it was just the gurgling of the crick that could be heard, now.

"Guys!"

Logan's approach snapped Dawn out of her thoughts to glance up at him, looking incredibly bemused, entirely unfettered in his naivety and, she had to admit, somewhat sweet in his wide-eyed innocence. Wait... what? That hadn't been her thought, had it? If it had been, it was going to get a beating later.

"What's going on?"

Pushing her stray thoughts away, Dawn frowned. "Nothing." she said simply, walking to the bike and giving it a hefty kick. The bright red, shiny cycle rolled forwards down the small slope, looking its most expensive in the few moments before it landed in the sludge with an unpleasant gluuuummmp. Dawn tossed the helmet in after it, sighing and giving Sheri a pointed glance before brushing past Logan to walk back a few paces and stare upwards at the sky.

"Nothing at all. Just cleaning up.." she murmured, letting out a second sigh. She wasn't entirely sure what she was sighing about, really. Perhaps the end of the world was catching up to her...

"I don't see them."

Though Jordan often struggled with the concept, there were some things about Sylvia that could be considered 'useful.' Her attention to detail rivaled that of any practicing mentalist, and she pulled it off with a damning certainty. No fleck of dust, no crooked hanger, no unsorted drawer was safe with her around. Jordan suspected that the talent had something to do with all the I-Spy books that had systematically vanished from his room during their childhood ..

So if Sylvia didn't see something, then it usually wasn't there to be seen. As Jordan coasted past the gate and into Wedgewood, she unglued herself from the window and tapped her brother on the shoulder.

"Jord, what if they're .. gone?"

"Nah. They're here, they gotta be." Jordan said it more for his benefit than anything.

Fingers crossed even as he nudged the steering wheel, Jordan followed the path west to a thicker alcove of trees, near the under-twelve playground -- the only place he could remember a payphone being. So there they sat, a cherry-red Ford F-250 out in the open -- three humans may not have been visible from the road, but their truck sure was.

Come on guys ..

Mr. Chuckles chose that moment to emit a low moan -- a more coherent-sounding moan than the other ones before. The excitement faded from Sylvia's face, and she turned slowly back to the Wizard, eyes filled with a sudden fire. Mr. Chuckles swallowed.

"Jordan -- "

"No, Sylvie."

" -- can't we just -- "

"I said no."

"But there's so many nice places to bury him around here .. " Sylvia clucked her tongue in disappointment, and Mr. Chuckles decided to go back to not saying or doing anything. "Jordan -- THERE THEY ARE!"

This time, a shriek from Sylvia yielded good tidings. Jordan raked the treeline with his gaze, and there was a flash of cyan -- Logan being the first to step out of the clearing --

"Still in his Smoothie Shack uniform, minus the hat and apron, thank God!" They were alive, they were alive! Jordan was out the door and bounding away, the engine still running before the truck could know what was going on.

Sylvia was just a second behind.

"Up." Lovingly as ever, she shouldered the Wizard, cutting board once again in her fist. "Out."

________________

"Hey."

"Hi."

Jordan and Logan met up, breathless.

"Good to see you."

"Same. Stayin' alive, bro?"

"Workin' on it."

"Where's your sister?"

Instead of answering, Jordan simply jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the truck. As though on cue, there was a ding! ding! as Sylvia opened the door, a sharp crack, a low moan, and then a cheerful -- "Oh hey Logan!"

Judging from Logan's expression, Jordan bet he didn't want to turn around.

"Yeah." The elder Renar scratched the back of his neck. "That's our friend. He made a great first impression, destroying our home and trying to kill us, like"

"Good Lord, I think she knocked him out .. "

"We call him Mr. Chuckles. Real conversationalist, he is -- "

"You brought him with you? You didn't mention that on the phone .. "

"There are a few things I didn't mention on the phone. Anyways, I figured if we're gonna be sharing the world with the Wizards, we might as well get to know them."

"Your sister is a raging psycho."

"I know."

Jordan stepped to the side, finally seeing Sheri and Dawn. They had been hiding near the creek. He lifted a hand to them in greeting, and it turned into a gesture, pointing to the truck. His message was clear -- there would be time for group hugs and singing later.

"Pack it in, Sylvie." Jordan returned to the truck with Logan in tow. Sylvia was trying her hardest to lug a newly-unconscious adult male back up into the back seat. "Logan -- give her a hand or something."

"Why do I have to -- "

"You think Dawn is touching that guy?"

Within about fifteen seconds, Logan was wedged uncomfortably in the backseat between a sleeping Wizard and a smirking Sylvia. Sheri fit herself in there somewhere, too, and Jordan had politely offered Dawn shotgun.

"Why does it smell like smoke in here?" Logan sniffed, and Jordan frowned.

"Never mind that." He threw the truck into gear, and they crawled back out towards the main gate. "Someone figure out where the heck we're going, because I think my house is busy burning to the ground."

Dawn really wasn't sure what it was with boys and monosyllabic greetings, but it seemed that no matter what the situation, that was all they did. Sometimes they didn't even bother with 'Hey', and just exchanged a 'Man Nod' with one another, stoic faced and gruff. Perhaps it was some sort of masculine delusion that caring about seeing your friends alive after the strong possibility of death was a weakness. Good grief, it probably was that, wasn't it? Dawn felt like smacking them, but that wasn't going to help things, really.

The redhead remained remarkably quiet as the group bundled into the truck, still somewhat sore over the loss of her bike, and Sheri's little dressing down. She did, however, glance at 'Mr. Chuckles' over the course of this, note his current state of 'beaten up', and offer Sylvia a respectful grin.

Wizard Count:

• Girls: Two (Mr. Chuckles and not-actually-called-Nikki)
• Boys: Nil

And so it was when Jordan spoke after the truck was full, that Dawn spoke again for the first time since their arrival in the cavalry-truck, turning to face him with a faint frown.

"I want to check on my Dad. Our house isn't far from here, you know where it is, Jordan."

If there was one person who was more successful at intimidating the boys of Cedar Spring High than Dawn Keating, then it was Andrew Keating. Everything about Dawn that was scary, angry and undeniably Scottish, came from him. There might have been one or two boys who dared to approach Dawn with anything other than friendship in mind were it not for his overshadowing presence -- every male visitor to the Keating residence always found themselves getting a 'talk' at some point, where they were (not so) politely informed of exactly which of their orifices Mr. Keating's prominent, wall-mounted shotgun affectionately dubbed Annabel would be shoved into were they to try anything with his precious little flower.

Now anyone in their right mind would know that Dawn was not someone you would describe as a 'precious little flower', unless you counted venus fly traps as flowers, and even then you didn't exactly get 'precious little' venus fly traps. But then again, it was questionable whether Andrew Keating was in his right mind. The same could be said about most angry Scotsmen, but Andy was perhaps a particularly angry man, even for a Scot.

It was easy to imagine then, that Mr. Keating would definitely be very much alive at this point, gunning down wizards in the dozens from his porch, Annabel in hand, bright red hair and beard glinting in the sunlight dramatically while he shouted incomprehensible Scottish swear words at the top of his very, very loud voice. Perhaps he would have scared the wizards away just by shouting at them. Wizards had orifices too, after all.

"We'll probably be able to hear him before we see him." Dawn smirked as this image of her father came into mind; perhaps he'd have put on his ceremonial kilt, just to look particularly movie-like. The redhead sat back and clicked her seatbelt on, having none of the rebellious 'it's the end of the world, screw health and safety' ideas like those of Sylvia.

"Well..." Deciding that this would be a good time to acknowledge everyone's state of breathing-ness, Dawn gazed out of the windscreen up at the sky. "It's good to see you two are alright. Like, not on fire or anything."

As the truck moved, the redhead noticed an awkward silence attempting to blanket the group, the weight of the 'end of the world' rather heavy on conversation.

"Oh!" Dawn sat forwards, an amused grin coming to her face. "You'll never guess who turned out to be a wizard..." she said, leaving a gap for the obligatory 'Who?' "Nikki Trawley. The little beauty-queen. Little bitch tried to spring a trap on us."

It was easy to tell, just from Dawn's expression, that that hadn't ended well for the other girl.

The truck drove on....